


Burnin' For You

by Telas_Selar



Category: Mission: Impossible
Genre: BAMF Jim Phelps, BAMF Paris, BAMF Willy Armitage, Based off a scene from S04 E08 "Mastermind", Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Injured Paris, M/M, No one is heterosexual Jim least of all, Protective Jim Phelps, spy husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telas_Selar/pseuds/Telas_Selar
Summary: A slightly different take on the scene from S04, E08 "Mastermind" which basically just highlights what might have happened to Paris on Merrick's orders if Jim hadn't intervened immediately.
Relationships: Implied Jim Phelps/Paris
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

"Take him and drop him somewhere" Merrick paused, a nasty smile playing across his features. "Hard." 

Paris momentarily set his lips in a determined line as Carson gripped his arm, forcing him to his feet, an equally dark expression on his face. This was aggravating. Their mission depended carefully on the timing of every preplanned action performed by each agent. He could not afford to deal with this now, not when Jim was depending on his immediate departure from the building. 

Yet there had to be no indication of anything but confused fear on his face, Paris reminded himself. The mask of Lester could not slip, no matter the cost. 

Feigning those very emotions, the agent stumbled, feigning a feeble struggle to wrench his arm free as they stepped out of Stone's office and into the elevator at the end of the corridor. 

"Hey let go, you're hurting me!" He protested, rearranging his features into a convincing grimace, but Carson only tightened his grip. 

"Shut up" He drawled, half-dragging Paris out of the elevator. 

His grip was only tight at the elbow, the agent mused, which meant it would be easy to slip out of it with only temporary dislocation as damage, but it would not do him any good to start a brawl now. Both the elevator and ground level were equipped with cameras - no, he had to go along with this, as tiresome as it would be, at least til they made it outside.

"Please" Paris tried again, playing for time. "I've got two kids at home, what do you think will happen to them? I barely make enough money as it is and I've got nobody-" 

"You know pal, I'm gettin' real tired of you" Carson responded irritably, shoving Paris out of the exit and into the adjourning alley while still maintaining the grip on the agent's arm. His other hand slipped into his jacket pocket, from which he brought out a switchblade. 

Glancing back momentarily, Carson let go of Paris and raised the blade, pressing it flat against the agent's cheek, just below his left eye. 

"Now Merrick doesn't care how I get rid of you, Lester" He started, but Paris had had enough. 

Placing the man's dominant hand on his shoulder, he kicked him behind the knees, using the moment of shock to attempt taking the knife. 

But he had miscalculated the other's thinking ability. 

Carson was not as dim-witted as Paris had thought him to be. 

With one swift stroke, he'd taken sidestepped the attack and plunged his knife painfully into Paris' side. 

Pain erupted from the point of contact and Paris wheezed in shock, falling to his knees against the wall. There was a sudden ringing in his ears and he felt his body seize up from the agony. 

Satisfied that he'd successfully incapacited the other man, Carson picked up his knife and made a dash for it, leaving Paris dazed and bleeding, numbness rapidly taking over his mind as his head lolled back onto the cold pavement, one hand still pressed uselessly to his wound. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Paris..._

"...Paris can you hear me?" 

The dark-haired agent groaned, pain lancing through him, sunlight piercing his eyelids as they flickered. 

"Thank goodness, I thought I'd lost you" Jim Phelps was saying, but his voice was muffled somehow, as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio. 

"Where am I?" Paris mumbled, trying to get up, but firm hands pushed him back down again. 

"Easy" someone else warned him, before there was the rustle of clothing being removed.

"Here, apply pressure with this instead" Jim told Willy, who obliged, wringing out his hands first. 

"Shouldn't we get an ambulance Jim?" He inquired, but the IMF leader quickly shut down the idea. 

"It's too risky, we're exactly where we shouldn't be."

Turning away from him, Jim lightly cupped Paris' face, looking into the man's deep brown eyes with concern as he did so. 

Paris subconsciously tried to lean into the touch, and Jim did not deny him that. Instead, he traced the other man's cheekbone with his thumb, watching his reactions with a sense of relief. If Paris was aware enough to crave this sort of touch from Jim, then he was most likely going to be alright. 

"Barney should be back any second with the truck" Jim said, continuing his ministrations. "Willy, when he does, I want you to carry Paris. See that you elevate his legs above his head and with any luck, we can slow the bleeding significantly enough to not warrant an ER visit."

"I will, Jim." 

"Jim-" Paris cut in, sounding disoriented as he tried to take his friend's wrist. "You need to - get out of here - Carson-" 

"Never mind about Carson, you didn't blow your cover. He'll be caught sooner or later. For now though, try not to speak." 

Paris fell silent obediently, and Jim continued tenderly stroking his cheek, only his eyes betraying how worried he actually was. 

It had been quite a while since any of his IM force had been injured like this, and Jim Phelps did not appreciate an encore, especially not when it was Paris sustaining the damage. 

Jim told himself that the concern was purely professional, but both his words and his actions proved otherwise. 

Not that it really mattered - if they couldn't get the man proper medical attention and soon, then nothing Jim thought about the situation would be of any use. 

Feeling anxiety begin to creep up on him as they waited, Jim wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his free hand, although it did little to help. He hated this, hated when a mission went wrong, when he found himself cradling the body of a colleague and friend as they fought desperately for their life, because Jim knew that one day, he would lose someone in the field. 

One day the team would return without a vital member of it, without preparation or warning, and Jim would blame himself deeply for that occurrence. 

Even now, as Barney pulled up in the truck, Jim felt that horrible sense of dread as Willy hefted Paris into his arms, ducking into the back as quickly as possible. Rapid fire questions and responses were exchanged, but Jim had eyes only for his injured friend, and as Paris met his gaze with a dreamy, faraway expression, Jim knew that he felt the same way. 

About all of it. 


End file.
